


antithesis

by jetplane



Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Gen, Police Brutality, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetplane/pseuds/jetplane
Summary: No matter what Derek Morgan does, he will always be a black man in America. And some people will only ever see that.prompt: manhandled (day 3)
Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946050
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	antithesis

**Author's Note:**

> _For the Black men  
>  my love cannot protect,  
> you are radiant.  
> Your eloquence is the gun  
> they swear you have when they shoot you.  
> The speed of your tongue  
> is justification to stand their ground.  
> Your existence is the antithesis of their contentment,  
> for the world is not prepared for you to succeed.  
> You are powerful._  
> \- “For the Black Men My Love Cannot Protect” by **Azariah Cole-Shephard**

Morgan bobbed his head to the music as he drove, a faint smile playing on his lips. Although he knew most people hated their morning commutes, Derek actually found his enjoyable. The drive to work gave him time to himself, the car becoming his own little world that he could retreat into before the craziness of the day. And an 8 am commute was far more pleasant than the all-too-common 3 am wakeups they got at the BAU.

A siren wailed behind him. Morgan checked his rearview mirror, and sure enough, red and blue lights had appeared behind him. There was no one else on the road.

Derek ran through a list of possibilities. He knew he hadn’t been speeding. He wasn’t texting or eating or tailgating. And he definitely wasn’t drunk. “Damn traffic cop quotas,” he muttered to himself as he flicked on his turn signal and turned off the radio. Morgan shook his head irritably he pulled to a stop on the side of the road.

He watched as an officer, a stocky white man, stopped his car behind him and stepped out of his vehicle. As he approached the driver’s side, Morgan rolled down his window and unbuckled his seatbelt, leaning forward to place his hands face-down on the dashboard.

“License and registration,” the officer said roughly.

Morgan groaned.

The policeman raised his eyebrow. “Do we have a problem?”

Derek quickly shook his head. “No, sir, it’s just that I work-”

“I don’t care where you work,” he interrupted. “License and registration, now.”

Morgan pulled out his wallet and handed it over. The officer roughly pulled it out of his hands and flipped it open. “Sir, may I ask why I was pulled over?” he asked. He checked his watch. If he got let go in the next three minutes, Derek might still be able to make it to work on time. “Sir?”

He barely even looked at Morgan. “Get out of the vehicle.”

The agent did as he was told, slowly unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door from the outside. As he stepped out, hands held up carefully, Morgan looked at the agent. “Officer, you should know that I have two legally owned firearms on-”

 _Bam_. The next thing he knew, Morgan was falling. He could feel hands on him and tried to throw them off on instinct, but his aggressor had too firm a grasp on the agent’s arms and he landed hard onto the ground. Pieces of gravel cut into his cheek as a knee dug into Derek’s back, and he squirmed uncomfortably. “Sir-” he gasped.

“Shut up! Don’t move!” The officer shifted more weight onto his knee, and Morgan had to bite his lip to keep from crying out as his hands were cuffed behind his back. This couldn’t be happening. Derek shut his eyes as hands roamed his body, lifting the guns from his hip and ankle. He counted two - no, three people touching him. Where did the others come from?

Finally, someone jerked him upright. Hands grabbed at him none too gently, forcing him to stand back up. Derek had to resist the urge to pull away from them.

“What’s a guy like you doing with two guns?” Morgan’s head spun, and it took him a moment to realize that the officer was talking to him.

“They’re for work, man!” he protested. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan with the FBI. My badge is in the car.”

The cops looked at each other warily. After a moment, the one closest to the driver’s side stuck his head inside Morgan’s vehicle. Derek ground his teeth as he watched the police officer carelessly toss his things around in the car. Finally, he withdrew. The man flipped it open and scrutinized the credentials, then Morgan’s face, and the credentials again. His eyebrow raised. “Let him go.”

The two officers holding on to Morgan let go at once, exchanging surprised looks. “He’s really FBI?”

The policeman nods. “Apparently.”

They looked surprised. One man uncuffed his hands, and Morgan examined the marks they left behind. The first officer walked up to him and handed him his badge. “Sorry about that, Mr.-” he checked the name - “Morgan.”

So the officer had very nearly arrested him, but he couldn’t even remember his name for a full minute? Derek bit his lip hard as he accepted the badge. “I need my guns back,” he said as calmly as possible. They were handed over. “And my wallet.”

Morgan returned his weapons to their holsters and put his wallet and credentials in his pocket. When he looked up again, the pair of cops were already gone. The only one that was left was the one who had pulled him over. He looked almost nervous.

“Hey, man,” the officer said. “I’m sorry about all this.”

Derek nodded. “Thanks.”

“It’s just - well, you know how it is, right? So many thugs and gangs running around the streets these days, it’s hard to know who’s good and who’s bad. And you can never be too careful.”

“Yeah.” He could barely force the syllable through his teeth.

“Well, take care. And be safe out there.” The officer turned and walked away. He got in his car and started to drive, the incident already fading to the back of his mind.

Morgan climbed into his car. He took a few deep breaths and gripped the steering wheel, trying to ground himself and slow his heart rate. His back hurt and his face definitely had a few scrapes, but he was alive. “You’re okay,” he whispered to himself. “You’re okay.”

Derek closed his eyes and leaned his head back. In his head, he saw grainy cellphone footage of people getting beaten, shot, and strangled. He remembered holding Detective Ware as he bled out and telling his widow that he was sorry. He pictured his son someday, driving the same streets with the same skin and no badge to provide even the smallest shield.

Suddenly, going to work today didn’t seem so appealing.


End file.
